


Something Else

by becomingshades



Category: Hanson, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst probably, I dunno what else, Just smutty smutty smutty, M/M, Smutty, Will The Real Haylor please stand up, but not a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becomingshades/pseuds/becomingshades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"YOU!" someone bellowed, causing Taylor to look up from his glass, shocked by the sound more than he was convinced anyone meant to address him. </em>
</p>
<p>  <em>Except it was him. He was being addressed. By a tall, impossibly limbed, tousle-haired popstar. One of the most famous ones on earth, actually. Harry Styles. Harry Styles was halfway across the dim, decrepit bar, pointing at him and smiling imperiously. Taylor couldn't help but smile in return, feigning shock and pretending to look behind him, in case there was someone more important back there.</em></p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Taylor Hanson runs into Harry Styles alone in a Manhattan bar. Or really, Harry Styles runs into him. This is what follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something Else

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fleetofships](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleetofships/gifts).



* * *

 

"YOU!" someone bellowed, causing Taylor to look up from his glass, shocked by the sound more than he was convinced anyone meant to address him.

Except it was him. He was being addressed. By a tall, impossibly limbed, tousle-haired popstar. One of the most famous ones on earth, actually. Harry Styles. Harry Styles was halfway across the dim, decrepit bar, pointing at him and smiling imperiously. Taylor couldn't help but smile in return, feigning shock and pretending to look behind him, in case there was someone more important back there.

"Taylor Fucking Hanson!" Harry exclaimed, when he was no more than two feet away. "Barman, two more of whatever he's having!"

God, this kid was enthusiastic.

"Harry Styles," Taylor replied on a grin, going in for a hug when Harry's body language and overly expressive face made it clear a handshake was unacceptably subpar. He smelled good. Woody and expensive with just the finest veneer of sweat. The way Harry's hand trailed across Taylor's lower-back set something off inside him. A memory of the same touch in that green room in Tulsa as they posed for a picture, perhaps, and something more, too. He coughed as they parted, pushing it away. "Good-- Good to see you again."

"This is so brilliant. What are you doing here?"

"I think I should be asking you that."

"Well I asked first, so..."

"This place is kind of my New York local, if you will," Taylor explained with a shrug.

He didn't add that Beauty Bar was a bit of a holdover from his younger, drunker, higher days, when he knew he could always score coke in the back room. Coke and a good, quick fuck in the spacious bathroom back there, burying himself in whoever fell on his dick first.

Mostly, now, he just came because he was friendly with the bartenders, and because it felt like a safe place. One where he'd be the least badly behaved. The least judged. That, and he liked the music that was always blaring from the back room, too. Plenty of Motown in the mix, regardless of who was playing DJ at any given time.

"Well, then, I'm glad I stopped in."

"Here to meet your dealer?" he asked, swirling his new glass in circles against the bar top, trying to pretend he didn't hope the answer was 'no.' As if he had any right to care.

"Nah, not tonight," Harry replied, looking at Taylor speculatively out of the corner of his eye as he took a huge swig of whiskey. "You?"

"Nah. I'm not... I'm old now, Harry," he laughed. "I don't have many nights like that."

"Like what?" Harry asked, turning to face him, his eyes alight with curiosity and... something. Something Taylor couldn't easily identify.

"Like the ones where I'd get obliterated and bang anything that crossed my path in the bathroom back there?" he answered, raising the end of it like a question, though he wasn't sure why.

"Mmm," Harry replied vaguely, narrowing his eyes on Taylor.

"Mmmm, what?"

"Mmmbop!" came the answer, followed by a bright, loud laugh. A laugh so loud Taylor found himself pressing a hand over Harry's mouth to stifle it.

"I asked for that, didn't I?" he replied, shaking his head and swallowing down laugh of his own.

Harry looked at him pointedly, eyes sweeping down toward the hand Taylor still held pressed against his lips. One eyebrow raised in response, Taylor removed his hand.

"Yes, you did," he answered, the moment his mouth was free. "And you have to admit, mate, that was pretty good."

"I don't _have_ to admit anything."

For a few seconds silence reigned between them. Taylor caught himself watching as Harry's smile changed, became something smaller and more speculative but no less beautiful.

"No, I suppose you don't," he replied, reaching for Taylor's right hand --the one that had just been pressed against Harry's mouth -- and holding it up to inspect the silver ring Taylor wore on his ring finger. "What's this?" he asked, thumbing the cutout in the center.

"Band logo," he replied, hoping he'd managed to sound easy and careless when inside he'd started to feel choked, twisted up around something.

"What was it like, when you were my age?" Harry asked, finally releasing Taylor's hand.

"What was what like?"

"Your life. Was it all parties and quick fucks in the loo?" Harry asked, eyes shifting down to Taylor's mouth. Taylor swallowed thickly, unable to answer. "Sex, drugs and rock n' roll, like?"

"It was..." he trailed off. "It was like it is now kind of. Only maybe more. I was. I was married and I had a kid and I was doing everything wrong but I couldn't stop, and..."

"And now?" Harry inquired, shifting closer.

"Now there's less drugs," he replied, trying in vain to keep his eyes away from Harry's mouth.

"What about the sex, then?" Harry shifted closer still.

"That, um..." He tried to swallow again. Everything was getting harder. Everything. "That too."

"Well that won't do," Harry murmured, letting his hand fall to rest on Taylor's thigh as he took another gulp of whiskey.

"It's..." Taylor trailed off, no idea what to say.

"Everyone knows you here, yeah?" Harry asked, mouth ducked to Taylor's ear as he ran his thumb nail up the inseam of Taylor's jeans. Taylor bit back a moan.

"Um, y- yeah."

"Then let's take a walk."

Harry let his knuckles brush across the bulge in Taylor's pants before throwing a fifty on the bar and turning toward the door. Helplessly, in a complete haze, Taylor closed his tab and followed Harry outside.

By the time Taylor caught up to Harry, everything and nothing had changed. A gust of cold air had cleared his head, but he was still uncomfortably turned on. Harry, meanwhile, seemed totally unaffected by their whole encounter. He was chatting away with a street vendor as he bought a snack, the look on his face open and inviting, but miles away from the naked desire that Taylor was sure was scrawled pathetically all over his face.

"Nuts for nuts?" Harry asked, turning to face Taylor and holding a thin paper packet out to him with a sort of sparkling grin in his eyes and on his lips.

"No, but thanks," he laughed in response, grateful to hear the sound come out of his mouth, and shook his head.

"What're you laughing at, mister?" Harry asked, eyebrow raised mischievously.

"This is New York City, Harry. There're probably like... cooked up dead roaches in there."

"Well, at least they're dead," he replied without missing a beat, before happily popping another sugary nut into his mouth.

"Disgusting," he said, shaking his head even as he found himself chuckling at Harry's enthusiasm. Again.

"You need to live a little, Hanson," Harry chided as they walked, stuffing another handful of nuts into his mouth when they turned the corner onto 15th Street. "Lighten up. You're not old enough to be this old."

"Oh really?" Taylor asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

When Harry turned to face him, eyes all serious again, Nuts 4 Nuts stuffed into his pocket as if long forgotten, Taylor felt the tension between them return.

"Really," Harry replied, voice low and even.

"Not sure I'd consider eating potentially toxic street food 'lightening up,' but..." Taylor trailed off as Harry stepped toward him, piercing the bubble of socially acceptable personal space.

"I've got some other suggestions," Harry offered, taking another step in, eyes falling to Taylor's mouth once again.

Taylor's heart was like a jackhammer in his chest. The pit of his stomach dropped out, then tightened with a flood of arousal.

"Like... Like--"

"Like this," Harry cut him off, before pressing him back against the wall and claiming his mouth in a positively filthy kiss.  
  
Harry must have known exactly where they were, because there was an alcove behind him. Nothing deep. Just enough that with Taylor's back up against the wall, he was entirely hidden, and Harry's face would probably be obscured well enough too. Well enough for. Fuck. For the most obscene kiss Taylor had ever had in public.

The cry Taylor released when Harry jammed his thigh between Taylor's legs seemed to jolt Harry back to reality for half a second, and he stopped to laugh and suck at Taylor's neck for a moment.

"Quiet, you," Harry murmured against Taylor's lips before diving back in for more.

And Taylor. He wasn't drunk enough to have an excuse for this, was the thing. So much of his life was structured around his carefully crafted excuses that this -- whatever it was, or would end up being -- was all the more disorienting and problematic. But Harry was like a tractor beam. Or gravity. Yeah. Harry was like gravity. Inescapable. Unstoppable. Taylor groaned and kissed him deeper.

"Do you," Harry gasped, reeling back some time later, a wet sound reverberating between them as their lips detached. "Is there somewhere we could go, and, and not be, not be seen?" he asked, rolling his hips against Taylor's.

And that. That Taylor could do.

 

 

*

 

 

There was no whiskey in the Brooklyn house, which felt wrong, so the only thing Taylor could offer was wine-- a red that looked more purple than anything in the glass. But he needed something to keep Harry busy while he found some sheets to put on the bed. The house had been empty for months. Since... Well, he couldn't even remember the last time he and Natalie and the kids had been there. Since one of his brothers had borrowed the keys to stay for a few days.

So much had happened in this house. So many people. But it had been so long.

"Tay, are you..."

Taylor turned, startled (once again) by Harry's sudden voice. He was still in the hall, glass of wine in one hand, the fingertips of the other resting gently against the wall behind him, as if he'd been trailing them along the plaster as he walked. There was a curious tilt to his head and a bemused smile playing at his lips. Still feeling caught -- pinned in place in a thousand different ways, by a thousand different things -- Taylor exhaled shakily, taking a long, slow blink. He should have known better than to think a glass of wine would distract Harry for very long.

"You're lighting candles," he said, biting his beautiful lower lip and stepping across the threshold tentatively. "Taylor that's... That's proper romantic, like."

Taylor felt the blush as it rose up his neck, crested over his cheeks. He wasn't sure why he was so embarrassed when Harry seemed so charmed, but... He was. He just was. Because like... he knew what this was. It was a night. It was a bad decision, like the rest of them, and in the morning he'd bury it so deep down inside him it would almost be like it never happened. It just... Didn't seem right, bringing Harry into a dusty room, with air that had been locked up inside for too long, smelling so stiflingly of nothing at all.

"It was stuffy in here!" he defended, but Harry still just looked amused as he closed the space between them, absently placing his half-drunk glass of shit wine on the dresser as he passed.

"You're something else, you know that?" Harry asked, reaching up to take Taylor's face in his hands before kissing each flushed cheek and each creased brow, then the tip of his nose and the cleft of his chin, before finally, finally capturing Taylor's lips in his.

Taylor sighed into the kiss, his body softening to align perfectly against Harry's as their lips opened and closed together in a series of wet, exploratory kisses. Harry slid his hands from Taylor's cheek to his neck and with the press of a thumb against Taylor's chin, he pulled them to a stop for a moment, lips forming half of a smile against Taylor's mouth as he trailed the fingers of his left hand down Taylor's arm and across his wrist lightly, before guiding the lighter out of Taylor's grip and placing it gently on the bedside table, as if anything more abrupt might frighten Taylor away. As if. It was too late for stopping now.

Harry kissed him again, once, twice, three times more, before flicking his tongue playfully against Taylor's upper lip and seeking entrance to his mouth. With their kiss deepened anew, time seemed to get lost between them.

It was Harry who pulled back again, taking with him Taylor's embarrassingly desperate whine as his mouth traveled in a line up toward Taylor's ear, studding his jaw with little bites as he went.

"Is this okay?" he asked huskily, the words formed right into the shell of Taylor's ear, as if Harry couldn't possibly remove his lips from Taylor's skin.

Taylor liked that idea. Wanted more. So much more. As he struggled to force the words from his throat, so thick with desire he could barely move oxygen through it, he felt Harry's fingers wiggling below the waistline of his jeans, then beginning to dip lower with intent. Oh. Harry'd asked... Was _that_ okay.

"Yes, fuck, god, yes," he chanted, when he finally managed to make words. "Fuck, Harry, yes, fuck," his litany continued.

With his opposite hand, Harry reached down to unfasten Taylor's belt buckle and flies, groaning into his neck when he found Taylor wasn't wearing any underwear. _Naughty_ , Taylor was pretty sure he heard Harry mumble as he shoved at Taylor's jeans until they were far enough past his hips to fall to the ground of their own accord. As Harry kissed back up his neck, he slid his middle finger down Taylor's crack, using his ring and forefingers to part his cheeks when he reached his destination before making dry, feather-light circles around Taylor's rim with the pad of his middle finger. Taylor gasped into Harry's mouth.

"Fuck, I," he stopped, yanking his lips free of Harry. "I don't have lube here."

"No worries, mate," Harry replied on a cheeky grin, turning Taylor around and pressing a palm flat into his back to bend Taylor over the bed while he dropped to his knees.

The first swipe of Harry's tongue was obscenely wet, and things only got sloppier as he licked, alternating between big, flat-tongued strokes and quick swirls with just the tip, which eventually progressed to Harry pressing his tongue inside Taylor, then several fingers, one by one. Propped up on his forearms, head resting against the backs of his crossed hands, Taylor was helpless to do anything but writhe and moan and curse, obscenity after obscenity tumbling from his lips in a combination of pain and adoration.

Focused as he was on Harry's tongue, Taylor almost didn't recognize the sound of Harry's belt as it came open, nearly missed the way it clattered to the floor. It took only seconds for Harry to stand, and pull Taylor up with him, pressing his erection between Taylor's wet cheeks for one tantalizing moment before he turned Taylor around in his arms.

"Make use of that mouth of yours, Hanson," he growled, pressing a condom into Taylor's hand and pushing him down to his knees. "Get me good and wet, n'then, get your damn shirt off."

By the time Taylor had slid on the condom and slicked the length of Harry's frankly huge erection with saliva, he was fairly buzzing with desire. Stopping to press open-mouthed kisses to each of Harry's tattoos as he stood, he missed the dark, ravenous expression on Harry's face -- all traces his sly, grinning sense of humor long gone -- until he was fully stood.

"Fuck, Tay, your tongue," Harry half-moaned, pulling Taylor in by the nape of his neck for a not-nearly-long-enough kiss, before pushing Taylor back onto the bed and swinging down after him. "By the pillows, you," he commanded, crawling after Taylor with all the lithe lines of a predatory panther as he moved.

Once Taylor settled in the pillows with his head near the headboard, Harry grinned wolfishly and ducked down for another series of obscenely wet licks to his hole, still slippery and dripping from his previous ministrations, pulling away with a series of biting kisses to the insides of Taylor's thighs. On his way back up, Harry hooked Taylor's knees over his shoulders, then, as he leaned over for another deep kiss, he pressed his cock inside with as much gentle patience as it seemed he could manage. There was enough time to allow Taylor to adjust to the feeling of fullness before Harry reached the limits of his restraint and began thrusting in earnest, punching soft moans out of Taylor each time he bottomed out.

"God, Tay, so-- fuck-- so tight, Tay, so good," Harry groaned his praise into Taylor's mouth, his teeth catching on Taylor's lip as he silenced himself with an aborted attempt at a kiss.

Taylor cried out when Harry hit his prostate the third consecutive time, starting to feel shaky and weak and overcome by all the pleasure desire pleasure desire. He wanted it to stop, to explode in vivid flashes of light behind his eyes as he came, and he wanted it to never end. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep Harry's bruising pace.

"Please, Harry, please," he began to beg.

"Close?" Harry asked, leaning back just enough to catch Taylor's eye, gasping as Taylor answered with a whimper and a clench of his hole around Harry's length. "Fuck, baby," he gritted out, giving a dramatic roll of his hips as as he licked his palm and wrapped it around Taylor's dick, stroking in time with his renewed thrusting.

_Yes_ became the only word Taylor could remember, falling from his lips in a continuous line into Harry's sweat-damp neck, repeated with the fervent energy of a prayer until he couldn't make words any longer at all. Until all he could do was latch his teeth down on Harry's neck and scream as he came between them. In the wake of his orgasm, before the starlight fizzing feeling cleared completely, he managed to release the sheets he'd fisted in his hands to pull at Harry's pert bum. Digging his nails in he urged Harry through his last few strokes before Harry came with one final juttering thrust of his hips, Taylor's name on his tongue.

 

  
*

 

 

Taylor woke to the sound of the piano downstairs. A quick glance at his phone told him it was nearly midnight, and he'd only been out for a couple of hours. If he'd forgotten what had transpired between him and Harry, the twinge in his backside as he stood, the view in the mirror of the marks on his skin, would have brought the memories back in an instant. It'd be days before he could go home, likely. Before the marks Harry had left on his skin would go away.

"Hey you," he whispered, his voice more hoarse than he'd expected, padding into the living room to find Harry stark-naked, hunched over the piano with a Moleskine notebook before him and a pen between his teeth.

"Hey," he replied, tucking the pen behind his ear and smiling like the actual sun while making grabby hands at Taylor.

Taylor obliged, closing the space between them, slipping his fingers into Harry's hair and resting one knee on the piano bench beside him. With a happy hum, Harry turned to press a kiss into the skin over Taylor's ribs.

"Whatcha doin?" Taylor asked, squinting to make out the lyrics and notation in Harry's book where it rested against the piano.

"Fixing this passage I was stuck on, it... This is is going to sound a bit daft, like, but, you sighed in your sleep and the fall from one note to the next just... Something clicked into place in my head. See, here," he gestured to the section where he must have just added some new notation.

Glancing over the words, something huge clenched up in Taylor's chest. He squeezed his eyes closed almost without thought. This moment was... Saccharine-sweet. And it felt too good. He was letting it feel too good. He had to stop.

"S'not daft," is what he said instead.

"It is, a bit," Harry smiled up at him. "Thanks anyway," he added, reaching out for the wine bottle perched beside his notebook and took a swig before offering it to Taylor, who did the same.

"Welcome, I guess," he replied.

"Tay?"

"Yeah?"

"That was great," he murmured, suddenly shy, tucking his face into Taylor's side.

"Mmmm," Taylor hummed in agreement, turning to sit beside Harry, sides pressed together though their bodies faced in opposite directions.

"And I know you're... I know everything, like. But I still... Could I see you again?"

That pierced the bubble. That very nearly landed in his heart.

"Oh, Harry," he sighed.

"Don't, Tay, I... I know it can't be, like, a thing. I only mean exactly what this was. Just... again."

Taylor reached over to pull the bottle of wine out from between Harry's legs and took a long swig. He knew what he should do. What he should have done many sober hours ago. But the truth was, something about Harry was like... Was better than any drunk, better than any high he'd had in a long time.

And this all made him the worst person on the planet of earth. The indiscretion. The moments he spent considering whether he would allow himself to have it again, or whether he'd go home, consign this moment to the darkest places of his memory.

"I'm horrible, I know. Forget-- Forget I said anything, Tay."

"No, Harry, no--"

"You have kids, I'm--"

"No. You're not horrible, Harry. Anything but that," he replied, voice tight, eyes prickling as he turned to press several wet kisses to Harry's shoulder. "It's me, I'm. I'm a mess. I've been a mess forever. I can't pull you into this."

In a rush, Harry rose from the bench and strode out of the room. Taylor bit back the tears, feeling more insistent now, and tipped the bottle back, gulping down whatever remained, spluttering as he forced himself to swallow it all down, even when it was so much more than he'd expected.

In his haste to escape, Harry had left his notebook behind. Curious, Taylor flipped around on the bench, unable to resist the temptation of studying the words more closely, picking out the notes Harry had marked down. It was beautiful, better than he'd expected, a musing on the human impulse to long for realities we'd never inhabit, that would never be ours. Pen in hand, Taylor felt himself leaving a note more than he even saw it.

When he heard Harry in the doorway again, fully dressed, coat and shoes on, Taylor hastily closed the book.

"It's wonderful, Harry," he said, rising and crossing the room to press the notebook into Harry's hands. Harry tucked it into his pocket immediately. "I know... I know you have to go. I'm just. I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't be," Harry replied, chucking his knuckles under Taylor's chin and smiling. It was... distant. Nothing like the sunshine he'd radiated only minutes ago. But it was something. "I knew what I was getting into."

"I don't," Taylor forced the words out past the places in his throat that threatened to close around them. "I don't think I did, but. I'm not-- I don't regret it. So please just... don't be a stranger? Okay? My number is in your notebook."

"I, ehm. Won't be? I guess, I dunno. Taylor what does that even mean?"

"I dunno, I-- We'll see, I guess. I'm sorry, I-- No. I'll... I'll let you go, Harry. Just... Finish that song, alright? It's. It's really something else."

When Harry was gone Taylor found another bottle of wine and took it to the piano with him, keymashing until the sounds resolved into something -- a new song, maybe -- and he followed the notes. The writer's block he'd left Tulsa to escape seemed to be clearing and he didn't want to know what that meant. Only that there was a smile there, when he closed his eyes. One that made him want to chase the thread of whatever words had finally found him again. So he did.

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, A! I know you're in London right now, celebrating, _and_ I'm a few days late. But. I had to finish what I started for you.
> 
> Thanks, Hanna, for all your help. Would never have posted without you, and Something Else is better, for sure, for your advice. You're a gem amongst humans. You and A both are.
> 
> Inspired, obviously, [by this](http://instagram.com/p/tULV_GEsGH/?modal=true). But also [by this](https://twitter.com/twooldfourthis/status/553295974693867520). And, you know, my lifelong love of Taylor Hanson, which has bred a lifelong love for lanky, floppy-haired popstars in general. Looking at you, Harry Styles. You can thank Taylor Hanson for all the albums and tickets and merch I've bought. 
> 
> xxloose


End file.
